


Witches in the Garden

by hookandgranny



Category: Schneewittchen | Snow White (Fairy Tale), Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), The Black Cauldron (1985)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Disney, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Disney, Disney Movies, Fairy Tale Retellings, Family, Family Drama, Gen, Post-Death in the Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hookandgranny/pseuds/hookandgranny
Summary: Snow White had a mother and father, once. Until she didn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU backstory to the original events of Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs. All credit to the Brothers Grimm and the imagination of Walt Disney for these lovely characters.

"Fire to the south."

The Queen bent over the black earth, digging her pale fingers in the dirt until she could no longer see the honey stripes of the tiger eye.

"Air to the east."

Under the weeping willow, a royal amethyst plunged below the soil.

"Water to the west."

The jade sank below daisies, its green eye blinking in the morning light.

"Earth to the -- "

The Queen looked around. The bluebirds chirped from the willow tree; one sounded suspiciously like a child's laugh.

"Tilly, darling, where are you?" The Queen scraped the earth from her fingernails and patted down the soil around the jade. "Tilly, I need my jet, sweetheart."

The child emerged from the shade, her jet-black curls bouncing off her shoulders, fists curled. She had her father's eyes, narrowed, and her mother's red lips, pursed, and in her pocket, a green candle.

"Can't I help you with the last part?" she asked, unfurling her fingers to reveal a smooth, inky stone. The Queen smiled and palmed the gem.

"Of course, Tilly. Come, help me say the words." The Queen scooped a handful of earth, relishing the warmth of the garden soil against her palm as the cool stone slid into the ground.

"Earth to the north."

"Earth to the north," Tilly repeated.

The candle was procured from Tilly's pocket, a bit of wax and string the color of sea-softened glass. The Queen rose, her black robes sweeping the garden floor, and planted the candle in the center of the flowers.

"By the four powers, my garden flowers."

"By the four powers, my garden flowers," Tilly said.

The Queen scooped Tilly into the air, all summer breeze and dirt-streaked cheeks. They watched the candle wave and burn under the sun, its pale light sparkling among the wild roses and black poppies. There was something strange in the air, a note of alarm that had pulled the Queen from her bed in the middle of the night, a cry that called to her from beyond the seven hills and in the heart of the Black Forest. She could not be sure of what was coming; even her powers did not extend past the reach of their small kingdom.

"What shall it be today, my pet?" she whispered.

Tilly wriggled from her mother's grasp and ran to the rosebush, where the first pink buds coiled between the thorns.

"These, these!" she cried, her fingers stroking the fragile petals with a frenetic energy. The Queen laughed.

"That, darling, is a wild rose. Someday, when you are much older, we will pluck the petals of the first summer rose and make a special tea... a potion to bring you your one true love."

Tilly frowned, her cheeks flushed to match the flowers. "I want a special love now!"

"In time, my pet, in time. It is much too powerful for you now." She drew Tilly closer. "It can even bring back the dead, you know. If the love it brews is strong enough. If the bond is truly pure."

"Like a ghost?"

"No, not a ghost... though some might confuse the loved one for an apparition. It's nothing to trifle with, Tilly. Bringing back a loved one -- even the most beloved -- always carries a consequence."

"Oh." The girl scuffed the ground, squelching the soil between her toes. "I was hoping it would be a ghost."

The Queen laughed. "No ghosts today, sweetheart. Come, let's gather some nightshade. We can hang it in your bedroom."

They carried armfuls of purple blossoms through the castle grounds and up to the east wing, where the golden spires shimmered under the noonday sun. The petals hung like bells over the bed, a protective canopy to ward off danger. Tilly chased the ripe, red berries around the room as they fell from the rafters, each spattering like drops of blood against the floorboards.

The Queen paused at the window, wiping the sheen of sweat from her forehead as she surveyed the slope of the land below. In the distance, the smoke was rising, a cloud of white dust kicking across the drawbridge.

"Marigold and moonwort," she whispered. If only she could be assured that the nightshade would be enough. Small dangers were easily tamed, but it was the monsters lurking in the forest that frightened her -- the one who wore the crown, even more so.

A pasty-faced servant appeared at the door, cold and panting. Tilly shrieked at the sudden visitor, her fingers red and purple from the toxic juice of the berries.

"Your Highness," the servant said. "Someone to see you. A messenger from the forest."

The Queen swept Tilly's black curls and kissed her on the forehead. In the Great Hall, she swept over the velvet runner, leaving a trail of soil and nightshade husks behind her. A bejeweled peacock spread its feathers above the throne, all sapphire and gold. The royal scepter rested on a blue pedestal beside her, reserved for the most solemn of the King's commands. Her fingers itched for the golden staff. She inhaled deeply and beckoned the man forward; against the windowpane, his shadow filled the room.

He was a man of medium height and strong build, a stalwart and unflinching character in the light. His eyebrows furrowed about his face, black and thick and menacing on a man less out of breath, less flustered.

"Messenger, what news have you?" the Queen demanded. Her heart clenched on every downbeat, purple blood pulsing through her veins. She thought of Tilly, of the sun-warmed garden and the jet black stone lurking under the earth. She thought of her husband, hunting for game in the Black Forest, piercing the heart of some great stag with his arrow. The nightshade hadn't worked -- she knew, as surely as she knew Tilly was hers, that nothing would ever work just the same again.

"The King, Your Highness."

"He's dead."


	2. Chapter 2

The King was buried under the willow tree.

Tilly clutched her mother's hand as the white coffin was lowered into the earth, past the amethyst her mother buried, down where the soil was hard and cold. The day, by contrast, was the warmest and brightest of the season. Even the birds didn't have the courtesy to stay silent, chirping all through the solemn processional and flitting over the heads of the gravediggers as shovels of sod fell in fluffy black mounds under the willow branches.

Tilly had seen more of wet-nurses and servant girls in the six years she walked the earth, but she remembered the King's smile on the nights when he returned from battle and the way he perched her atop his finest hunting steed before leaving for the Black Forest and she felt she ought to be sad. The Queen was inconsolable. She fainted on the day the messenger came, her heart slowing almost to the point of stopping, and she had refused to leave her chamber for weeks.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, Tilly thought she could hear her mother scream. The nightshade was dried and brown above her bed, a dark reminder of the day the messenger took the Queen's heart away. Tilly had not seen her mother since the afternoon they spent in the garden, and only on the morning of the funeral was she permitted to stand by her side in silent grief. She wanted so badly to embrace the Queen, to bury her face in the folds of her mother's black mourning robes and receive some comfort for a sadness she could neither inhabit nor understand, but the Queen's face looked puffy and impassive under a black lace veil and she did not have the heart to try.

When the last clump of dirt struck the coffin, the gravediggers and servants made their respectful departures and left the Queen and her daughter to mourn in private. Tilly wandered among the roses, pulling petals from stems while the Queen bent over the dirt and touched her cheek to the freshly-churned soil.

"I have something for you," Tilly said. She knelt by the Queen, her tiny palm outstretched. In the center, a perfect pink rose, severed from its stem and petals splayed against pale skin. "It's for your one true love."

The Queen raised her head slowly, swollen green eyes peering through the shadow of her veil. "Love...?" Her voice broke.

"For my father. To bring him back," Tilly said. "I thought you said... if the spell was strong enough..."

Fresh tears spilled from the Queen's eyes.

"Oh, my darling. No. Not this time." A shudder escaped her lips. "What we need is something much, much stronger."

"Then let's get it!" Tilly cried, her cheeks flushed with eagerness. "We can grow anything here. We can bring him back. What do we need?"

"No." The Queen's voice was stronger, sharper, the voice of a monarch. "I will not discuss this further with you. Now is not the time for magic, Matilda."

The girl began to cry in earnest, blubbery sobs clogging her throat and nose. She swung her fists at the Queen, rose petals scattering like ashes over the garden flowers. "You promised... you promised! You can bring him back, I know you can!"

The Queen said nothing. She reached out and stroked Tilly's curls, pressing them between her fingers as flowers between the pages of a book. It was strange, this idea of raising a daughter alone in the kingdom. She thought of her late husband, of the way she could lose herself in his eyes, in his bed. He was warm and tender in their few private moments together, which made his coldness, his unrelenting thirst for fresh game and new conquests (both geographical and carnal) all the more difficult to reconcile during his long absences. She saw so much of him in Tilly's eyes, in her persistence and determination. She saw herself in Tilly, too, in the aching loneliness reflected in that small mouth, those small fingers. Sometimes, they were both as tightly wound as a new rose, all thorns and coiled petals waiting for the sun to shine.

"My love," said the Queen, "the kind of magic you want is black magic. It opens doors that cannot be closed. I loved... I love your father more than you can imagine, but there are lines we must never cross. It is better that he continues to live only in our hearts and our minds. Please do not ask me for such a favor again."

Tilly drew closer to her mother, laying her head in the Queen's lap as the sun warmed their heads.

"I won't."

It was then, she later realized, that the birds stopped singing.

\---

_A month has passed. The kingdom is in mourning. The Queen has assumed the throne, and there are whispers circulating even the smallest shire about her unwedded state. Tilly is seven years old._

"Tilly, my pet, I have someone for you to meet."

The bedroom door swung open. A young woman stepped over the threshold, blonde hair falling across her cheeks as she moved. Tilly was perched on the window seat, a thick black book propped between her knees.

"You must be Matilda," the young woman said, sitting gingerly on the edge of the cushion next to the girl. "Would you prefer I call you by a different name?"

Tilly kept her eyes on the page.

"No one calls me Matilda. My name is Tilly. Although," and here she glanced up from the page, "you may give me a witch's name if you like."

The Queen chuckled.

"I hope you don't find her too much of a handful. Tilly hasn't had a governess before, only her wet-nurse and, well, me. I've taught her the basics, but I think you'll find her skills need refining." She walked to the window, taking a cursory glance around the castle grounds below while Tilly thumbed through her book. "Darling, this is Eilonwy. She's here to continue your magic education. You know I'd help you if I could, only there's so much more to do around the kingdom now. Will you be good for her?"

Tilly sighed, twirling her black curls around her fingers. "I suppose. I'd rather have you teach me, though."

"I know it's not easy, but Eilonwy is an exceptional instructor. If you listen to her very closely, you shall surpass even my talents in no time at all." The Queen planted a kiss on Tilly's head. "I'll be in the Great Hall if you need me."

Eilonwy stood and extended a hand to the young girl. "Shall we begin? I was thinking we could start with some protection spells. And, if you pass your first test, maybe we can find you a secret witch's name, too." Her eyes sparkled in the afternoon light, the exact shade of the ocean shallows after a storm.

Outside, the cherry blossoms fluttered like rain over the castle courtyard. Tilly traced the stained glass pattern on the windowpane, catching the light between her fingers and watching it splay over the pages of her book. She imagined her father under the willow tree, cold and tired without his family. She could see the plumes of white smoke rising over the cauldron, the sweet smell of dead men's bells in the air, her father's soft hazel eyes blinking under the full moon.

Tilly looked back at her governess, grasping her hand and swinging it back and forth as a small smile crept onto her cherubic face. Perhaps Eilonwy would be useful after all.


	3. Chapter 3

"Two minutes and forty-six seconds. A mite better than your last mark, I'd say."  
  
Eilonwy beamed with pride. The potion frothed and bubbled along the crystal tubes, the very essence of distilled sapphire, and dripped into the vial with a silvery finish. She held it to the light.  
  
"This is your best yet, Matilda."  
  
Tilly rested her chin in her hands and glared at her governess. "It's the fifth one I've made today. Can't we move onto something more interesting? We have enough potions to last us through three winters."

Eilonwy placed the bottle on the shelf. Hundreds of vials glistened in the afternoon light, each harnessing a unique power: opals for clairvoyance, moonstones for wisdom, jade for immortality, rubies for love. Tilly was right, there was enough magic to see the kingdom through the darkest times.  
  
It had been six months since the King was laid to rest, six months of empty halls, of magic lessons, of riots in the kingdom and whispers of the Queen's madness. Nothing substantive in those rumors, of course -- the Queen was healthy, if paler than usual, and spent most of her days consulting with advisors in the Great Hall. There was something strange and sad in her eyes, but the royal staff generally chalked it all up to the dull knife of bereavement. Ten years with the King were not easily forgotten.  
  
Perhaps she should take it easier on the girl, Eilonwy thought. Tilly showed such reticence as a seven year old, with none of the spark and vivacity she found in her own brothers and sisters back in the village. It was peculiar for a school-age child, but she could find no intrinsic fault within the princess. The governess didn't dare question the Queen's orders. Tilly's talent was obvious, and if she grew up anything like her mother, her powers would be unparalleled -- and unchecked. Privately, she wondered why magic was the preferred outlet for the troubled women of the castle.  
  
"Oh, all right," Eilonwy said. She could almost see Tilly's ears perk up, like a wild hare listening for the step of a fox before venturing out of its burrow. "I'll let you choose _one_ spell, then we need to stop by the garden and harvest some of the Queen's goldenrod. I have a mind to teach you divination next."  
  
Tilly stood on her tiptoes and brushed the spines of the spellbooks with her thumb. The largest, a thick, purple volume, fell into her arms. She furrowed her brow for a moment, flipping through the pages.  
  
"This one," Tilly said. "I want this one."  
  
Eilonwy smoothed the page with her palms and sighed. "Eternal Love, huh? I think you're too young for this one, Matilda."  
  
Tilly's eyes darkened.  
  
"I want this one," she said, jaw clenching. "You said I could choose one, and I want this one."  
  
Eilonwy felt a cold wind at her back. Her powers were refined but still rudimentary in many ways. If she pushed the girl much further, there was the chance that the Queen herself would get involved, and that was a risk the governess could not take.  
  
"I understand it's frustrating," she said. "But listen to me, this is dark magic. You shouldn't even have this spellbook... in fact, I'm not sure how it got on the shelf in the first place. This is something your mother should teach you about, not me."  
  
Tilly slumped in her chair, and Eilonwy could see a little more of the light drain from her eyes. She pulled her stool closer to the girl.  
  
"A long time ago, when I was just a bit older than you, I learned about black magic," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "In my kingdom, there was a terrible, vicious king with great big devil horns who lived in the castle."  
  
Tilly looked around. " _This_ castle?"  
  
"No, no... one in a kingdom much further away from here. Anyway, he saw me doing magic one day and locked me up in his dungeon, and it took me ages to get out. His magic was more powerful than anything I've ever seen. He hurt people, good people, and it took all the goodness and strength and light in the world to stop him."  
  
The girl looked dubious. Eilonwy clasped her hand and tried to look stern.  
  
"Dark magic can never mix with love," she said. "It does strange things to people. Makes them unpredictable, dangerous. But I think I have just the thing for you today."  
  
She pushed her stool back from the table and rummaged around in the kitchen cabinets. Tilly said nothing, her head spinning with visions of dancing devils and swirling, foaming concoctions in claw-footed cauldrons. When she glanced at Eilonwy again, her governess was holding a single red apple in the palm of her hand. She held it out to the girl.  
  
"All you need is this," she said, "and your boline. Here, take it."  
  
Tilly palmed the apple and held its fragile skin to the blade of her moon-shaped knife. "Now what?"  
  
"Repeat after me: Fire, earth, air, water."  
  
"Fire, earth, air, water," Tilly said, her fingers itching to carve the sweet white meat of the fruit.  
  
"Spirits of the element be with me."  
  
"Spirits of the element be with me."  
  
"Very good." Eilonwy beamed. "Now separate the skin from the apple, carving slowly in one long ribbon all the way around until it comes off in one piece."  
  
The girl concentrated, the tip of her pink tongue poking between of her lips as she steadied the blade against the apple. The skin peeled away, leaving its iridescent juices sticky on the silver metal crescent. She held the peel gingerly with her thumb and forefinger.  
  
"This is the tricky part," said Eilonwy. "Repeat the incantation, then spin three times and drop the peel over your left -- it must be left -- shoulder. When it falls, it will form the shape of the first initial of your future love."  
  
Tilly snorted, her small features compressed with disdain. "What if the name of my love starts with a 'q,' or an 'x'? What if the spirits get it wrong? What if I never meet my true love?"  
  
"Oh, for goodness' sake," Eilonwy snapped. "Just repeat the spell. We don't have time for all the "why's" of the world today."  
  
"Very well," Tilly sniffed, "but I am not expecting anything."  
  
"Spirits of love, spirits of good, on you now I beg to intrude. With this token to discover the initial of my one true lover, and harm it none, so be it."  
  
Tilly spun and spun and spun, her eyes shut tight against the crystal potions and deadly spellbooks and the disquieting gaze of her governess, murmuring the words under her breath. She stopped. The apple flew.  
  
"Oh look, Matilda," Eilonwy cried. "It's an 'a.'"  
  
The girl turned and looked at the floor, where the carcass of apple skin was smashed into a kind of circle with a little tail curving away from it. "It's just a silly party trick," she told her governess. "It doesn't mean anything. Not like my mother's spells."  
  
Eilonwy tried to mask the hurt on her face. "Well, pay it no mind, then. We'll move on to something else."  
  
She picked the remains of the apple off the floor and placed them on the table, wiping her fingers in the folds of her skirt before turning back to the spell book. Tilly climbed onto the stool next to her governess and wrapped her arms around her teacher's neck.  
  
"It was a nice idea," she said. "I think you're a brilliant witch. Tell me again how you defeated that horrible devil king."  
  
Eilonwy smiled. "Well, I was just a little girl, not much bigger than you are now. The wicked king had captured me and put me in his dungeon, where it was horribly dank, and dark, and I could barely see anything except for my golden orb."  
  
"What orb?"  
  
The governess tapped the delicate silver chain around her neck. A tiny moon hung from the center. "Can you keep a secret?"  
  
"Oh, yes," Tilly said.  
  
"My golden orb kept me safe," Eilonwy said. "It's a peculiar little thing. Family heirloom, I believe. I come from a long line of enchantresses, just like your mother. Anyway, the king had half a mind to slay me... and my friend, but my little golden orb led us out of the dungeon and into an ancient burial chamber, where we found the most powerful sword in the world. My friend used it to defeat all of the Horned King's demons."  
  
The girl sighed. Swords were all right, but magic was better. "Tell me more about the orb, Eilonwy. Can you do magic with it?"  
  
An impish light sparkled in Eilonwy's eyes. She untangled Tilly's arms from around her neck and stood up, clenching the necklace in one fist. Beams of golden light spurted from between her closed fingers, reflecting on the girl's face. Tilly had never seen anything so beautiful.  
  
The governess slowly unfurled her fingers. A golden orb, no bigger than an apple, floated away from her grasp, bobbing and dancing around the room. Tilly chased it, stretching her arms as it flitted past the shimmering potions and up toward the ceiling.  
  
"Wait!" Eilonwy cried. The girl stopped, a mixture of irritation and fear clouding her expression. "That little orb has more power than you know, Matilda. It defeated the Horned King, and his dark magic still lives within its core. If we're not careful -- if, God forbid, it falls into the wrong hands, it could unleash unspeakable evil on this world."  
  
Tilly frowned. "I thought you said the sword defeated your Horned King?"  
  
"Yes, well... it helped. My friends were very brave, throwing life and limb to the cauldron when they did. But it was my orb that absorbed the essence of his evil that day, and it is my orb that has prevented his return. I... I shouldn't have shown it to you. I don't know what I was thinking."  
  
Eilonwy opened her palm. The orb hovered briefly over her head, then landed, gentle as a dove against her hand. She closed her fingers, and when she opened them again, the necklace had lost its ethereal luster.  
  
"Do you ever do magic with it?" the girl asked again. She couldn't wait to be older, a real witch, like the other women in her life. She'd show them she wasn't afraid of anything.  
  
Eilonwy shook her head. "No, I... I stopped the day we defeated the Horned King. It's too much of a risk. Before I met him, this orb could bring me anything I wanted: wealth, fame, power, love... life. Now it frightens me to think of what would happen if I tried to conjure even the smallest spell. It carries such a high price, this magic."  
  
Tilly's ears buzzed. _Fame, power, love... life_. _Love... life. Life._ She smiled and slipped her hand into Eilonwy's.  
  
"Let's go to the garden," she said. "I want to pick an apple for Mother." 

\---

The moon beat cold and clear against the willow branches. A single headstone, white marble, etched with love, looked as though it had been pried loose from the earth and set back at a slight tilt. A figure bent over the upturned soil, wrapping strange words like a midnight wind around the castle. Pale golden light twinkled like fireflies over the garden.

  
From the darkness, a voice.


End file.
